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The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> All hail the Oracle, for his every utterance tops spending one's > time in learned trifles; darkening counsel by words or mystifying > the more by attempting to unravel mysteries, by putting truths > before a lantern by which, at best, we see but darkly. > > Ok, I admit it. I'm a skinny geek with thick glasses and > asthma -- but I want to be a futbal hooligan (is that the > correct wording?)... anyway how to I go about it?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} It starts with a little blind stupidity.  What do you care about } wording? } } Next you have to go to football games. } } Drink a few beers.  This is going to be fun. } } Hit anyone that calls it soccer. } } Hit anyone who's cheering for the other team. } } Hit anyone who's cheering for your team. } } Hit anyone who tries to stop you from hitting people. } } You owe the Oracle the highlight reels.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Dear Oracle, > > The expedition is going well. There were an estimated 20 saboteurs on > board when we set out, but the mythical beast that apparently came > aboard in the coffin we agreed to ship to London has killed off the > crew one by one, so there should not be more than three or four by now. > I tasked Dr. Jones, my second in command that fate so miraculously send > to my rescue after my first choice, Thompson, had a sudden outbreak of > stabwounditits, with finding them out. (What extraordinary luck he was > in that dark ally when Thompson became sick, for without him, I would > have been forced to call off the expedition after all.) He tells me the > box of dynamite he is carrying around for no reason at all will help > him with this. A man of many talents, he is, our Dr. Jones, and I must > introduce you some time when I return. Scurvy has not been a major > problem so far, as we stocked up on Vitamin-C enriched sparkling water > with radish flavor before we left Vancouver. > > We made landfall near (old) Amsterdam two days ago and looked for a > local guide to take us inland. The natives are superstitious and > afraid, obviously, and we had to part with the larger part of our maple > sirup to even make promising contacts, but we finally found somebody > who is willing to make this dangerous voyage with us. His name is > Guldengrabber, an ugly and mischievous fellow that hides an > enormous-axe-shaped disfiguration under a black coat that he never > takes off, even when he sleeps. I do not entirely trust him, because he > happens to be the owner of the local general store where we acquired > some rope, tents and a couple of Kawasaki Ninja motorcycles, and he > took a little long with my Visa in the back room. But he claims to have > been there, and I suppose it is just my prejudice about his ugliness > and his pack of large black hounds with glowing red eyes that stir up > imaginations in my tired mind. We will set out tomorrow, he says there > is a road that starts directly south of here. > > Belgium! Can you believe it? To be the one who discovers the legendary > land of chocolate and beer made from berries. You know how obsessed I > have been with the myth since I first read about it in my children's > books when I was forty-three. And what triumph it will be when I bring > back proof to those who mocked me. Me, the discoverer of Belgium, land > of our dreams, symbol of our desires! > > But now that I am closer to fulfilling my dream, I feel strangely > unsettled, like I overlooked something or some unknown hazard still > lurks in some dark corner of the primitive skycrapers around us. Is > there any last advice you can give me, O Oracle, before I walk towards > my destiny? > > I entrust this letter to a man who is pointing an automated machine gun > at me. His apparently excellent marksmanship will, I hope, see to it > reaching you safely. > > Always yours, > > Supplicant

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} No, not really. You're doing well. Guard the chocolate. You owe the } Oracle 1700 kilos of Belgian Dark 72% chocolate.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Oh Oracle most wise, > > Should I ask lots of questions during the meeting?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Of course. You've already shown, by asking me a question, that you are } good at it. } } Ask why the meeting is being held, and by what authority. Ask why the } people who organized it forgot to invite your mother. Ask them why they } didn't invite ME. Ask if you can be excused to go to the bathroom, but } when given astonished permission, don't go. Ask if the proceedings of } the meeting will be published in French. Ask the name of the capital of } New Jersey. (It's Trenton.) Ask where and when the next meeting will be } held, and then ask why they are lying to you about their answer. } } You owe the Oracle a fly on the wall.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> You know when you have an opened bottle of water on your desk and > someone stops by and they have a bottle of water and they put it down > next to yours and you talk a while and then no one knows whose water > is which in the end! And you just don't want to drink either because > it might have the other guy's spit so you have to throw it away even > though there's people in the world with no water! I hate this! Please > help, tell me how I can avoid this?  Does God kn ow? Esse est percipi?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Dear Professor Berkely, } } How astute of you to go to the heart of the question: if human } senses can't tell the difference between water with your own spit, } and water with your friend's, is there really a difference at all? } For that matter, is there even water in the bottles at all when no } one is there to taste it? } } Relax, I've got it covered. } } Since the Oracle is omnipresent, I keep an eye on the water bottles } at all times, to maintain their continued existence. It's a dirtyjob, } but someone has to do it.  I took this over from God, because he's } become bored with it and hasn't very reliable lately. } } But in a situation like this, I try to resolve the situation fairly: } I stop noticing the spit in both bottles, leaving nothing but distilled } H20, uncontaminated with anything. I even ignore the volatiles in of } the plastic bottles, even though you couldn't detect that, either. } So when you pick up either bottle, it's as though you were taking a } fresh one off the rack. } } Don't bother to thank me, but you owe me a branch off that non-existent } tree in the yard.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Impossible but Undenyable Oraycle, where is all that stuff I owe you? > I'm sure I have not sent it yet, but most of it I can't even identify. > Like the Solid Gold Chronotabulatolizer? Or the 1984 Edsel? I mean, they > made Edsels in 1959 or whatever, right? Not 1984. Where the hell am I > going to find a car they didn't even make?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Impossible but Undenyable Oraycle, where is all that stuff I owe you? } I'm sure I have not sent it yet, but most of it I can't even identify. } Like the Solid Gold Chronotabulatolizer? Or the 1984 Edsel? I mean, they } made Edsels in 1959 or whatever, right? Not 1984. Where the hell am I } going to find a car they didn't even make? } } The advantage to being an all-seeing entity that pierces the veil of } time and space is that the Oracle has an "arrangement" with FedEx to } get items from the future. The practical upshot of this is that you } have already have going to have sent me everything listed above, } including items from alternate timestreams which only exist in a } quantum superstate during this particular frame of reference or were } expunged by various causal realities leading up to the moment in } question. } } The shipping costs are another matter entirely. You owe the Oracle } $78,194,399.95 for negative second day overnight delivery fees.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Oh Truthful Oracle who knows that a lie hath no feet because > it cannot stand alone. In fact, a lie wants twenty others to > support it, and even then is in constant danger of tripping, > thus the Oracle is like a billion centipedes! > > What do I need to learn most?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} That's easy... } } **ZOT!** } } ...not to call the Oracle a liar in the middle of your grovel. } } When you recover, you owe the Oracle a googlepede.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Talented Oracle most time sensitive, > > Is sleep naught but death's counterfeit?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} My Dear Slumbering Supplicant the answer to your question is thus: } } Sleep ought not be what it is not.  Sleep ought be only what it aught. } For Sleep is not Death unless it is the Sleep of Death, unsought. } But sought, Sleep ought not be less than naught. } } You owe the Oracle a sleeping draught.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Why do they keep breaking into my car?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} They're waves, that's what they do. Try parking a little } bit further back from the low tide line. } } You owe the Oracle a squeegee guy on a surfboard.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> And suddenly I find myself beginning my sentences in conjunctions and > ending in question marks and creating run-ons and rambling on and on > and it's not even funny?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} That's what going to Law School does to a person. You paid } good money for that. Run with it. } } You owe the Oracle a really nice suit.

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Hi, Orrie (May I call you Orrie? Names are important to me, and I'd > rather not get yours wrong, as you will see.) > > My name is Burma S. Buttuxx. the problem is not my last name (although > you might think so) because I am descended from a long line of > respectable Buttuxxes, or whatever our plural is. My school, in a fit > of geographical rethinking, has just "corrected" my name to Myanmar > Buttuxx. The school says, "That's what the computer has. We can't > change it." > > I'd hate to get into a full discussion of my name with them, because > then I might have to reveal my middle name. Hint (as if you needed > one): It is part of the brand name of a famous facial-care product. My > great-grandfather rode about in his 1931 Packard, collecting the words > on every set of those signs, hoping someday to write a book about them. > Unfortunately someone else beat him to it. > > What should I do?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} You owe the Oracle } } A single dime } } To pay him back } } For wasted time.